


consulting detective

by Philosophics



Series: D & the Detective [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Detectives, F/F, Meet-Cute, arms dealers, with a dash of noir
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-05
Updated: 2019-05-05
Packaged: 2020-02-25 23:26:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18711832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philosophics/pseuds/Philosophics
Summary: D had been running her underground arms shop for close to five years now. It was all perfectly legal—mostly—but that didn't mean she appreciated having a detective sniff around her business, especially when said detective had the most infuriatingly pleasant smile.-(Sort of like a noir mashed together with a meet cute, or possibly not like that at all.)





	consulting detective

**Author's Note:**

> This is an edited director's cut of a piece I did for a lovely nonprofit wlw project back in 2017. It's a little different than my usual stuff. I keep meaning to do more with this universe but for now I have to settle with just this pilot oneshot.
> 
> A version of this work was first published in GIRLS/GIRLS/GIRLS! zine in 2017.

 

 

“You’re all set. Just make sure you do regular maintenance on it,” D said, setting a black case on the counter. “It should go without saying but, you know.” She punctuated the statement with a roll of her eyes.

Her customer—a Mr. Nick something—nodded as he took the case. “Some people just don’t know the first thing about firearm upkeep,” he finished with a toothy grin. “I gotcha.”

A soft groan of hinges accompanied by a rattle from the dusty bell above the door frame heralded another visitor. D looked up to see a woman in a neat gray lapel coat step into the store, her short, dark hair ruffled from the wind.

D set her jaw. "Detective," she said.

The detective smiled pleasantly. "Good evening. Is this a bad time?"

"Not at all,” D replied, maintaining a bland expression. “Please give me a moment."

"Of course, don’t let me interrupt you." The detective made a show of perusing a display of ammunition belts.

Nick something leaned forward conspiratorially. “Wasn’t me who ratted to the cops, I swear.”

“You’re a funny guy, Nick,” D said. “A real riot. Now off you go.”

He scurried off with his purchase and D turned her attention to the only other person in the store, who now approached the counter.

"If you’re here about my background, I have nothing to confess,” D said bluntly.

"I'm not here to investigate you." The detective had the wherewithal to sound amused.

D bit back an irritated sigh. “Well then, what can I do for you, detective?”

“What do you know about heavy grade firearms?”

“We don’t stock anything like that,” D snorted. “That’s just asking for trouble.”

“Oh, I’m aware. But that’s not what I was asking.”

D blew some hair away from her face. “Then what, exactly, are you asking?”

“A consultation, if you’re so willing. I’m in need of your particular expertise, you see.” From within her coat, the detective produced a clear plastic zipper bag; contained within was a single bullet and an empty cartridge.

D eyed the bag, then acquiesced, "Fine,” and took it. She adjusted her ponytail and tugged on a pair of vinyl gloves before flicking on the small table lamp. Carefully, she plucked out the contents of the bag and brought them up to the light for inspection. "Looks like a ten millimeter straight case, rimless. Dated, I’d say at least fifteen years—shape’s longer than standard. Swedish make, maybe a Saab-Nilsson, for a medium velocity repeating handgun," she concluded, looking up. "Though I'm sure you have people who could tell you the same."

The detective shrugged. "You're faster," she said, expression inscrutable.

D dropped the bullet case back into the bag and slid it back over the counter. “Only an idiot would mistake this for a heavy grade firearm,” she added.

“Oh, I know,” the detective replied.

D frowned, but before she could get another word in a quiet  _ping_ interrupted them. The detective drew out a sleek black phone. “Ah, excuse me. I have to take this.” Turning, she stepped aside and spoke into it: “Caasi.”

D couldn’t make out the conversation so she settled for watching the detective’s back. Her arms shop was perfectly legal—though it maybe toed that line on bad days—and she’d never run into trouble in the five years she’d been running it. Still, her business was underground enough that greener agents of the law could probably have a field day if they happened to catch a whiff. D could feel the beginnings of  _that_ headache already building up behind her temple.

When the other woman returned, D crossed her arms and stared her squarely in the eyes. “Why are you really here, detective?”

The detective raised an eyebrow. “Like I said, I had need of your expertise, Ms. De—”

“Just ‘D’ is fine,” D interrupted, “and last I checked, it’s not exactly conventional for a police detective to visit random arms shops for _consultations._ My type of establishment doesn’t appreciate cops nosing around, you know. It’s not good for business.”

“I assure you, Ms. D, I’m not here for work. Well, I am, but not that way.” The detective tucked her items away. “Anyway, you have my thanks. How much do I owe you?”

D sized the other woman up. “Nothing,” she decided, “save for a favor for a rainy day.”

The detective’s brows lifted. “I don’t know how willing I am to owe someone like you a favor.”

“So  _now_ I’m a person of suspicion?”

The detective smiled. “That’s not what I meant.” She brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear then replied, “Very well, a favor it is. Within reason, of course.”

“Of course,” D agreed.

For a moment it seemed as if the detective had more to say, but she merely inclined her head and, with an affable “Good day”, strode out the door.

 

—

 

Detective Second Grade Lillian Caasi of the New Atria Police Department. D hazarded that she couldn’t be older than mid-thirties, which put them at about the same age. She’d come into the shop twice before; D hadn’t thought much of it the first time, but when the detective returned not a week later D had become suspicious. She had to possess a certain amount of paranoia in her line of work, after all.

Third time’s a pattern, they always said. And a fourth—

The bell gave its familiar, tinny clatter. This time, D walked out from behind the counter, frown already firmly in place. “You again.”

“Good evening,” Detective Caasi greeted, as amiable as ever. She didn't back down as D stalked up to her despite the inch or so of height in D’s advantage.

“If you’re here for another consultation it’ll have to wait. Shop’s closed for the day,” D informed her, shrugging on her jacket.

“I know,” the detective said. “Actually, I wanted to request an... on-site consultation.”

“Right now?”

“Are you busy? I assumed you were headed to the bar down the block.” Catching D’s stare, she smiled that same charming smile and offered, “It’s Thursday.”

D narrowed her eyes. “You’ve been watching me.”

“Sorry, force of habit.” The detective shrugged, looking somewhat sheepish. “I’m observant by profession and you’re a person of routine, it seems.”

D chose not to respond to that. Instead she asked, “And why would I be interested in helping you out?”

“Change of pace? I imagine it gets stuffy being cooped up in here all day,” the detective replied, looking around the space. “I mean no offense, of course.”

“... Fine,” D grumbled. “But we’re  _not_ making this a habit.” 

The site was a ten minute walk away—a clichéd alley off of a back street. A smattering of uniformed personnel was already at the scene when the two of them arrived. D smirked at the sight.

“Leaving a crime scene during the middle of an investigation? One could think you’re slacking on the job, detective.”

"I’m  _always_ serious about my work, Ms. D," the detective said coldly.

It was the first time D had seen that pleasant mien of hers slip. The jab had totally been worth it.

"No need to get your feathers ruffled,” D said. “I was just screwing with you."

"Testing me?"

D rolled her eyes. "If that’s what you want to call it.”

They stepped over the police tape. Evidence markers highlighted the debris littering the ground, and there were several distinct, circular dents punched into the cracked concrete walls. Without waiting for permission, D walked up for a closer look.

“You’re that private consultant of Caasi’s, I take it?”

D looked up from where she’d been examining the fracturing in the brickwork. A woman had come up behind her, outfitted in a long coat similar to the detective’s, and, underneath, black uniform vest and slacks. Her salt-and-pepper-streaked black hair was braided and twisted into a bun. Beneath a pair of ink-dark eyes, her straight nose was adorned with a single, unassuming nose ring.

“Detective Amrit Goyal. I'm Caasi’s partner. Field partner,” she clarified. Her tone was no-nonsense, though not unfriendly. “You must be D.”

“That’s what they call me,” D said, accepting the firm handshake offered to her. “Does the detective—Detective Caasi often strong-arm private consultants into helping her with her cases?”

An amused sort of expression flickered over Detective Goyal’s stern countenance. “She will, on occasion, really sink her teeth into a case. When that happens, she’ll pull out all the stops.”

“So she does her job,” D deadpanned.

Detective Goyal didn’t beat an eyelash. “Caasi’s got a strong sense of justice,” she replied, glancing to where her partner was now in conversation with one of the investigators. “It's an admirable trait, if it doesn't get her in trouble.”

“Funny, hearing that from a member of law enforcement,” D remarked.

“Is it?” Detective Goyal’s tone was light, but her gaze held weight, like a knife in its sheath. If D were a lesser person, she’d be shuffling her feet. As it was, she simply shrugged, the motion smooth and unaffected.

Their conversation was halted then by the other detective’s approach. “I see you’ve met already,” Detective Caasi said, smiling at the two of them. “That saves me some trouble.”

D turned back to the subject of her examination rather than responding, mind already shifting back to her previous preoccupation. It was easy to ignore the cheerful voice behind her remarking, “Don’t take it personally. That's just the way she is.”

 

—

 

It didn’t take long for them to wrap up the so-called consultation. The detective had wanted D’s opinion on a case theory and D was more than willing to oblige. Not that she’d ever admit it, but D always got a certain thrill from exercising her subject knowledge, like slaking a thirst. Eventually, Detective Caasi stepped away to converse quietly with her partner. D shoved her hands in her pockets and turned away.

“Where are you going?” the detective called after her, stepping away from her now-disbanding team.

“The bar.” D glanced at her, mouth quirking in one corner. “It’s Thursday, after all.” A brief pause, then D added, “You’re free to join me if you want.” Without looking back, she began walking. She was alone for only a few minutes before the detective caught up, falling wordlessly into step with her.

The bar was only a couple notches above grungy dive status, honestly, but it had good booze so D didn’t complain. Upon entering, she plopped down at her usual spot at the counter and motioned at the bartender. The detective sat down to her right, flashing the bartender a smile when he set two beers down in front of them, before turning to D.

“Drinks on me. Thanks again for your help today,” she said, tugging off her gloves.

No ring, D noted before mentally shaking herself, because,  _really_ , it hadn’t been that long, had it? She grabbed one of the beers and downed a generous swallow.

The detective continued, “And also for inviting me for a drink. I was wondering when you’d get around to doing that.”

D’s thoughts stuttered and she cracked a smile in spite of herself. “Never thought you would be so forward, detective,” she retorted.

Lillian laughed; the sound was melodic, like chimes. Her eyes, warm amber-gold, danced with mirth. “Please, call me Lillian. And I have to say, you’re much more likeable after a drink.”

D gave a soft snort. “Same goes for you.”

“Really?” To her credit, the detective only looked mildly surprised.

“Well, yeah. It’s refreshing seeing you without the whole”—D made a vague gesture with her hand—“pleasant front.” She said the word ‘pleasant’ like it was anything but.

“You know, most people find pleasantness to be a positive quality.”

“Not when it’s like—that. A mask.”

Something flickered across Lillian’s expression, and she took a sip of her own drink instead of replying. But she didn’t look upset.

D studied her discreetly, eyes drawn to dark lashes and the soft dip of her mouth. Their gazes met and stuck for a few brief moments before D tugged hers back to her glass.

“What are you thinking?” Lillian murmured, cheeks tinged with subtle warmth from the alcohol and maybe something else.

“I think,” D mused, “I’d like to call in that favor.”

“Oh? What do have in mind?”

D smirked and leaned in. “A date, if you’re so willing.”

Lillian blinked, then her mouth dimpled as if she were biting back a smile. “What makes you think I’d be into you? I don't know if you've noticed, but you're kind of an ass.”

D shrugged. “Maybe you're into those.”

“Asses?” Lillian laughed again. “I’m more of a chest person, personally.”

“You learn something new everyday,” D chuckled. “Well?”

“Hm...” Lillian cocked her head and tapped her chin in exaggerated deliberation. Then, she broke into a smile that was mischievous and wholly genuine, and made something twist in D’s chest when she finally answered, with a cheeky grin, “Fine.”

D hid her grin behind her glass. Maybe she wouldn’t mind if they made  _this_ a habit.

 

 


End file.
